Nick leant back in Dave’s expensive swivel chair at No 10 and let out a deep contented sigh. Civil servants bustled around bringing him biscuits and Very Important Documents about Lords’ reform. Jeremy Kyle played quietly on a television in the corner. And best of all, he could clock off at 3.30 without anyone getting too angry.

Golly, he loved it when Dave was away. His gaze fell on the red phone on his desk. Should he order Prince William to stage a pre-emptive invasion of Buenos Aires? Maybe tomorrow.

Yes, Dave was in Sweden for a few days, researching his new theory that the UK could drag itself into double digit growth if only every boardroom contained at least seven Rebekah Brookses. And while the cat was away, Nick planned to do as little as possible. He put his feet on the desk, picked up a newspaper, leafed past the first 10 pages about football and allowed himself a little smirk as he read about Tory opposition to Andrew’s health bill.

“You don’t know much about the EU, wind farms or higher rates of taxation, either, but that’s never stopped you.”

Nick said nothing.

“Anyway,” Miriam continued, “how hard can it be? Six million a year to tell 11 people how to kick a football. That’s a lot of money for someone like you. And just think: you’ll never have to go to a Lib Dem conference again.”

“But why would they choose me?” asked Nick.

“Well, they always choose a manager who’s the opposite of the one before,” said Miriam, who had read about nothing else for three days. “The last one was suave, Italian and highly successful. And you’re…”

She trailed off diplomatically. “Anyway, it’s not like you couldn’t deal with the public opprobrium if you do badly. Graham Taylor, Glenn Hoddle, even Steve McClaren – none of them had had as much experience of being universally hated as you.”

“Thanks,” said Nick.

“And if kick-off is at 7.30, you could still do the school run,” she added, helpfully.

“But what about the job security?” said Nick. “I might be gone by the summer if we get a bad result in Europe…”

It was Nick’s turn not to complete his sentence. “Oh I see,” he said, a smile flitting across his face. “Now pass me that phone, would you?”